


Golden Fountain

by bloodandcream



Series: The more the merrier [94]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drinking Games, Multi, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 15:49:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12708063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: “I gotta know,” Meg says, “Were you the one being pissed on or did you piss on someone?”





	Golden Fountain

“How about a -”, clearing his throat, trying not to slosh his drink on his lap, Castiel dredges up from the depths of his memories, from the many conversations he wishes he hadn’t had with Gabriel, what he thinks is correct - “Never, have I ever, done a… golden fountain.”

Dean raises his shot glass to lips like he’s ready to knock back, but Meg breaks into a fit of giggles.

“Fucking, fountain? Are you serious? Did you mean golden shower?”

Blinking, shot glass still held at the pink swell of his lower lip, Dean looks between the two of them. “Wait, yeah….:”

“Uh.” Castiel says.

Meg laughs, and kicks Castiel under the table. “Fountain? You mean golden shower. Watersports? Piss play?”

He can feel the heat in his cheeks, but honestly, he always gets flushed when he’s drunk.

“Yes, of course, didn’t I say that?”

Dean’s tongue darts out to lick his lower lip and he hasn’t lowered his shot yet.

“No,” Meg drawls, leaning on the table and tilting her gaze towards Dean, “But I’m pretty sure Dean-o got the drift of what you were saying.”

“Fucking, stop calling me that,” Dean shoots back. “You’re fucking dad always calls me that, it’s creepy.”

“My dad’s always creepy,” Meg rolls her eyes, “But that’s not the point. Cas wants to know if you’ve ever been pissed on.”

Cas clears his throat, “Or pissed on someone else.”

Two sets of eyes fixate on him.

Meg’s cleavage spills out from the low-cut black tank top she wears, her leather jacket long discarded, and the swirling colorful lines of her tattoos are shifting in Castiel’s vision. Dean, Dean, head bobbing with how drunk he is, Castiel can never decide whether he should be focusing on Dean’s eyes or the gleam of those pink lips wet with alcohol.

“You really wanna know that Cas?” Dean asks, cocky grin pulling his lips wide.

Nodding, Castiel, corrects, “Never have I ever done a ‘golden shower’.”

Meg laughs so hard when he air quotes that she almost knocks over the bottle of tequila.

Dean knocks back his shot.

“I gotta know,” Meg says, “Were you the one being pissed on or did you piss on someone?”

“That’s another turn, sweetheart, and I get to go before you.”

Dean is closer to Meg than Cas is, tilts towards her as he says ‘sweetheart’, and Cas can see his shoulder moving, the swell of his bicep muscles, and knows that Dean is putting a hand on her thigh under the table.

“So,” Castiel scrapes at the peeling label of a bottle of vodka near him, “It’s your turn then.”

“Oh,” Dean coughs, straightens up. He smirks, looks Castiel straight in the eyes, “Never have I ever… given someone a handjob in church.”

Castiel knocks back a shot and he hears Meg’s quiet ‘holy shit’ across the table.

Disgruntled, Castiel glares at Dean. “That’s targeting, you’re targeting me specifically and it’s not fair.”

“This game wasn’t meant to be fair, honey,” Meg smirks.

Dean jostles her, reaches for another bottle, gives Castiel a short shrug like he’s trying to say ‘all’s fair in love and war’. Or, in drinking games. Something like that.

Castiel has known Dean, brash, infuriating, scraped knees and hole-torn jeans Dean since childhood. And yes, the first handjob Castiel ever gave someone was to Dean, in the choir balcony of Castiel’s father’s church. Perhaps they are more than friends, drifting into and away from intimacy as they each find and lose other interests. But right now. Right now Castiel finds himself distracted by the pink of Meg’s mouth, by the glint of piercings in her lips, by the tattoos creeping up from between her breasts, and how she sways sometimes closer to Dean, sometimes closer to him.

He’s not sure exactly where she came from, but she hit on him once at the grocery store that he frequents. He gave her his number, and now, somehow, she sleeps in his bed half the nights of the week, her father invites them over for dinner, she sings to his plants when she’s drunk and he’s caught her kissing Dean at least four times.

“So,” Meg sits with her shoulders pulled back, proud, “Never have I ever…..” Looking purposefully at Dean, Meg picks up the tequila and pours his empty shot-glass to full, “Been pissed on.”

“Fuck you,” Dean tells her, then knocks back his shot.

Meg howls with laughter, “I was fucking right!”

And Castiel, he’s not sure what to do with this information.

But like most things that have to do with these two, he’s out of his depth. Well. At least he’s good at holding his breath.


End file.
